Kaisel
She doesn't take his hand for a beat too long. He wonders then, if he ruined this.
Not the kind of ruin where she will chase him out, cursing his name, and refuse to speak to him again. No, nothing so dramatic as that, hard as it is to believe with both of them at the heart of it. It would be the kind of ruin that hurt a lot more, the one where they would drift away with intention this time. It would shadow every thought and wedge between each action. What had once been easy between them would be so complex it would feel like too much to manage, afraid to spark anything with this newfound knowledge that it could ignite.
Because it could.
This could burn them both down to the ground if they fed it.
All it would take is relenting to that growing weight between his thighs. To actually turn her shorts invisible with the help of his teeth. To hunt down that aroma of desire, the one that had been infiltrating his nose since Frey's arrival, and find it there, wet and waiting beneath the curtain of her long shirt. All it would take is her pulling him back down. The pressure of their bodies against each other again a force too diabolical to escape a second time, so the flame would do the rest.
Thing is, Kaisel likes to play with fire, but he doesn't want to burn. He's certain Flora doesn't either. If he's going to do something like this, he wants it perfectly crisped to a golden brown. Shoving it into the fire too fast, it might look done on the outside, but inside it'll still be raw—indulge in that and it'll chew you up from the inside out and have you squat with regret for days in the bathroom. He has never felt that golden gleam with her. Warm, sure, the way the sun is warm on his skin, a comfort and a reminder of good things in the world. Not a flame though, not a promise of something delicious to come with time. So this? This wildfire that's begging to erupt? He doesn't trust it, because where the fuck did it come from, who had come sweeping in with matches and kerosene? This would be a charred mistake, something tasty in the moment, but something that would crumble to ash in the morning light.
The worry dissipates as her fingers clasp his. He smiles at her, a recognition in his face that says, whew, we almost fucked up, close one eh? It quickly crumples to confusion, to pain as her finger presses against a weak point, as her nail digs against his skin like a harpy's talon. "Wha—" Then Spice, blessed snack god she is, who he foolishly thought he'd curried some favor with tonight—as if forgetting who she truly served, Spice dealt his death blow. She was swift at least, merciful, unlike the Doubletake.
Kaisel crumples to his knees with a strangled cry, the look of defeat, a style he's worn too much tonight.
Flora leans in with all the tell Cersei it was me she could muster and beheaded him.
He kneels there for a moment, willing warmth back to his knees as he rubs his hands over the bare skin by them. All the fire has gone out now, overwhelmed by the ice. He glances over his shoulder as she cheerfully calls for him, and he grumbles in response as he struggles to rise, one hand holding the exaggerated slit up his toga to keep from exposing all his humility tonight. The ice cream remains forgotten on the counters, gradually melting, like their temptation fading; collateral for the night ending in them actually sleeping, in their own rooms.
"I'm serious about the shopping in the morning!" He reminds her as he storms up the stairs.
Not the kind of ruin where she will chase him out, cursing his name, and refuse to speak to him again. No, nothing so dramatic as that, hard as it is to believe with both of them at the heart of it. It would be the kind of ruin that hurt a lot more, the one where they would drift away with intention this time. It would shadow every thought and wedge between each action. What had once been easy between them would be so complex it would feel like too much to manage, afraid to spark anything with this newfound knowledge that it could ignite.
Because it could.
This could burn them both down to the ground if they fed it.
All it would take is relenting to that growing weight between his thighs. To actually turn her shorts invisible with the help of his teeth. To hunt down that aroma of desire, the one that had been infiltrating his nose since Frey's arrival, and find it there, wet and waiting beneath the curtain of her long shirt. All it would take is her pulling him back down. The pressure of their bodies against each other again a force too diabolical to escape a second time, so the flame would do the rest.
Thing is, Kaisel likes to play with fire, but he doesn't want to burn. He's certain Flora doesn't either. If he's going to do something like this, he wants it perfectly crisped to a golden brown. Shoving it into the fire too fast, it might look done on the outside, but inside it'll still be raw—indulge in that and it'll chew you up from the inside out and have you squat with regret for days in the bathroom. He has never felt that golden gleam with her. Warm, sure, the way the sun is warm on his skin, a comfort and a reminder of good things in the world. Not a flame though, not a promise of something delicious to come with time. So this? This wildfire that's begging to erupt? He doesn't trust it, because where the fuck did it come from, who had come sweeping in with matches and kerosene? This would be a charred mistake, something tasty in the moment, but something that would crumble to ash in the morning light.
The worry dissipates as her fingers clasp his. He smiles at her, a recognition in his face that says, whew, we almost fucked up, close one eh? It quickly crumples to confusion, to pain as her finger presses against a weak point, as her nail digs against his skin like a harpy's talon. "Wha—" Then Spice, blessed snack god she is, who he foolishly thought he'd curried some favor with tonight—as if forgetting who she truly served, Spice dealt his death blow. She was swift at least, merciful, unlike the Doubletake.
Kaisel crumples to his knees with a strangled cry, the look of defeat, a style he's worn too much tonight.
Flora leans in with all the tell Cersei it was me she could muster and beheaded him.
He kneels there for a moment, willing warmth back to his knees as he rubs his hands over the bare skin by them. All the fire has gone out now, overwhelmed by the ice. He glances over his shoulder as she cheerfully calls for him, and he grumbles in response as he struggles to rise, one hand holding the exaggerated slit up his toga to keep from exposing all his humility tonight. The ice cream remains forgotten on the counters, gradually melting, like their temptation fading; collateral for the night ending in them actually sleeping, in their own rooms.
"I'm serious about the shopping in the morning!" He reminds her as he storms up the stairs.
And when the day broke, buried in violence
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Somethin' made my mind up
I could do this with my eyes closed
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
